


Someone Come (And Save My Life)

by OnTheTurningAway



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Consensual Humiliation, Fluff and Smut, Injured Steve (but not seriously), M/M, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Tony, Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4884856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheTurningAway/pseuds/OnTheTurningAway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony doesn't react well (at first) when he finds out Steve is injured during a mission.</p>
<p>(Or, Tony really loves Steve, and Steve's glorious tits. And then feelings leaked all over my porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Come (And Save My Life)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sapphirescribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/gifts), [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts), [tuesdaymidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/gifts).



> Written for Alby_Mangroves' [Lip Service comment fest](http://alby-mangroves.livejournal.com/65822.html) on LJ. Inspired by [this gif](http://alphalewolf.tumblr.com/post/127325978266) of Steve's obscenely attractive chest/body/everything in AoU, and this [gorgeous Steve Rogers fanart](http://petite-madame.tumblr.com/post/129510119051/after-the-battle-i-could-tell-you-some-bullshit).
> 
> Title from "Sleeping Sickness" by City and Colour. 
> 
> Many thanks to tuesdaymidnight for giving this a quick once over for me.

* * *

“Stop squirming and let me clean this up,” Sam says, pulling Steve’s tattered uniform shirt over his head and reaching for the first aid kit.

“I told you, it’s nothing,” Steve says, twisting his body away from Sam. His finger catches on ripped fabric as he smooths his undershirt down his torso and it comes away streaked with sticky blood.

Natasha looks pointedly at his chest, eyes zeroing in on the deep gash above his exposed left nipple. “The peep show you’re giving us says otherwise, Rogers.”

Despite the blood, the wound on Steve’s chest is fairly minor: a single, clean cut Sam is currently trying to clean up with antiseptic and gauze. The burn from the laser has already subsided and Steve can feel the prickle of his skin knitting itself back together. In an hour, after a shower and change of clothes, it will be like nothing happened at all.

Clint throws a handful of popcorn in the air, catching one or two kernels in his mouth while the rest of the pieces scatter around him on the couch. “Stark’s going to be pissed that second skin he designed for you didn’t hold up.”

“They shot laser beams from their eyeballs, strong enough to cut a car in half,” Sam says. “Who plans for that?”

Natasha perches on the arm of the couch and grabs a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl in Clint’s lap. “I seem to recall Steve tossing his shield your way, Barton, which probably would have stopped the eyeball lasers.”

Sam lifts the hem of Steve’s shirt, looking for other injuries. “Well, now we know who to blame when Tony sees the state Cap’s in.”

“What, you’re going to rat me out when Dad gets home?” Clint pretends to hide behind Natasha.

“I’ll protect you,” Natasha says, then grabs the bowl of popcorn from Clint. “For a price.”

“You wound me.” Clint mimes plunging a dagger into his chest.

Sam starts to gather up the used medical supplies. “Might be a better way to go than facing Stark. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Better not put that kit away just yet," Natasha says, leaning closer to Clint. He grins and tucks his head under her arm.

Steve stands and claps his hand on Sam’s shoulder in thanks. “Nobody is telling anyone anything because there’s nothing to tell tonight.”

All teasing aside, Steve knows Tony _will_ be upset if he finds out the under-armor he designed for Steve hasn’t held up, especially if his way of finding out is seeing it ripped and stained with Steve’s blood. He’ll lash out with biting words and sarcasm, say things that can cut deeper and last longer than any physical wound.

Steve imagines Tony locking himself in the lab, shutting himself away from the rest of the team—from Steve—hunched over his work table for days on end. He’ll work himself past the point of exhaustion to figure out what had gone wrong with the design, and how he can fix it so that Steve never, ever gets hurt because of one of his mistakes again.

No, Steve really is fine, and he’ll tell Tony about the problem tomorrow, after they’ve all eaten, slept and had a post-mortem with Fury. But he doesn’t want Tony to see him like this, even if his wounds are practically nonexistent now.

The Avengers have had more than their fair share of close calls and he knows how it feels when Tony emerges from the Iron Man suit battered and bruised.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use some real food. Someone order something?” Steve turns and walks toward the elevator. “I’m going to go clean up before Tony—“

“Too late.” Clint tosses another fistful of popcorn in the air and Steve hears the familiar and unmistakable sound of someone—probably Natasha—smacking Clint upside the head.

“Before Tony what?” Tony asks as he walks into the living room. “Barton, far be it from me to lecture you on cleanliness, but can you at least try to get some of that in your mouth?”

No one laughs and the silence drags on long enough to be uncomfortable. Steve fights the urge to turn around when he hears Tony murmur, “Tough crowd.”

“I know it was intense before Banner brought out the other guy, but it looks like everyone made it out in one piece, so why the long faces?” Tony asks. “Avengers one – evil alien bad guys zero. Go team!”

Steve can picture Tony pumping his fist in the air with a victorious gleam in his eye and chuckles to himself.

“You hurt, Wilson?” Tony asks.

“Nah, I’m good,” Sam says. “Bastards almost took out one of my wings, but I made it down safely.”

“So if everyone is okay,” Tony asks, “who needed the first aid kit?”

Clint mumbles something about a flesh wound and needing a band-aid, but Steve can’t stand having the team to lie on his behalf. He squares his shoulders, then turns back to the group and locks eyes with Tony.

“We’re all good. No lasting injuries to report.” Steve catches himself before adding “sir,” out of habit.

Tony’s eyes travel down Steve’s body and Steve sees the exact moment when his expression changes from relief to something sharp and piercing, almost predatory. The tension in the room ratchets up almost instantly. Steve knows this is going to play out one of two ways—Fight or Fuck, as Tony so tactfully likes to put it—neither of which warrants an audience.

The rest of the team must feel it too, because they make awkward excuses to go, but not before Natasha puts a hand on Tony’s arm and whispers, “He’s fine.”

Tony hums in response, eyes never leaving Steve, even when Steve hears the door click shut.

“JARVIS, privacy mode,” Tony says. “Don’t interrupt us unless the world is coming to an end.”

“Understood, sir,” JARVIS replies.

It’s only then that Tony looks away and walks over to the coffee table to pick up Steve’s discarded blue uniform shirt. He shakes it out, inspecting the tears and burn marks. Steve can see a nerve twitching above Tony’s eye and the clench of Tony’s jaw as he traces a particularly dark blood stain with his finger.

“Well,” Tony says, then stops to clear his throat. “This didn’t hold up as expected.”

“Lasers. From their eyeballs,” Steve blurts out, moving closer. He needs to nip this in the bud, before Tony’s mind goes into overdrive thinking about a host of worst-case scenarios. “Stronger than we anticipated, but I’m fine.”

“I have to go down to the lab to start analyzing this.” Tony glances at Steve, eyes shifting rapidly down to the tear in the fabric over his left pectoral. He clutches Steve’s blue shirt in one fist while he gestures at Steve with the other. “I’ll need that one, too.”

“Tony,” Steve steps closer, less hesitant now, putting himself squarely in Tony’s space. He takes Tony’s hand and places it over his heart so Tony can feel its steady beat. “I’m okay.”

Tony’s breath comes out in a rush and a finger slips under the ripped fabric. He rubs it back and forth over the raised skin where the cut on Steve’s chest has almost completely healed.

“This shouldn’t have happened. I should have—” Tony pauses, closing his eyes. “It’s not okay.”

Steve wants to argue, to point out that he’s America’s original super soldier, but he knows he’d feel the same if their roles were reversed. That Tony blames himself, thinks he failed Steve somehow because of a design flaw or lack of due diligence on his part, makes it even worse.

No one carries guilt like Tony Stark, Steve has come to realize.

Instead, Steve nods and brings their foreheads together, so close now they’re sharing the same breath. They stay that way until the tension begins to leach out of Tony’s shoulders and he slides a hand up the back of Steve’s neck, holding him there and breathing heavily against Steve’s throat. His other hand stays on Steve’s chest, finger glancing over Steve’s nipple with each pass.

When Tony finally kisses him, it’s hard and demanding, like he needs proof that Steve can handle it. He bites at Steve’s lips, twists and tangles his tongue with Steve’s, forces silent apologies into Steve’s mouth.

They still aren’t always the best at exchanging words, especially when they’re scared or angry, but this affirmation of life and want and need, they know how to do.

Steve chokes back a moan when Tony pinches his nipple through his shirt.

“Don’t,” Tony says, pulling away from Steve’s mouth. “I want to hear you.”

Steve knows Tony would rather he was more vocal during sex, and he’s trying, but he was raised at a time where sex wasn’t spoken of freely or with such candidness. Steve wasn’t having any sex pre-serum, and during the few experiences he had after, he was mostly focused on making the lady feel good. With Tony though, he often can’t hold back, even if he wanted to.

Tony’s goatee tickles Steve’s skin as he kisses down Steve’s neck, pulls back the collar of Steve’s undershirt, bites at his collarbone, and leaves little sucking bruises that will be gone in a matter of minutes. All the while, Tony walks Steve backwards until his calves bump into the couch, and Steve falls back against the arm of the sofa, bringing Tony down with him.

“Graceful.” Tony laughs, burying his face in Steve’s chest.

When he looks down, the mischievous twinkle Steve loves so much is back in Tony’s eye.

“I’m sure Wilson did an adequate job cleaning your wounds, Captain, but I think this calls for further examination.”

Tony’s shifts down Steve’s body until he’s sitting astride Steve’s hips. He cups Steve’s pecs, rubbing his thumbs over Steve’s nipples, teasing them to hard peaks through his shirt. He slides his hand back under the ripped fabric over Steve’s left pec and strokes his bare skin. Then Tony dips down and takes Steve’s covered right nipple into his mouth, latching on, licking and sucking until the material is soaked through.

Heat surges through Steve like a bolt of electricity when Tony bites down, and he lifts his hips, hardening cock seeking out friction against Tony’s ass.

“You like that?” Tony asks, biting down again, then again. Steve’s hips jerk upwards each time, like some perverse Pavlovian response.

“You really do, don’t you?” Tony laughs and Steve feels his cheeks flame. He tries to turn his head away, but Tony reaches up and holds his face steady. He kisses Steve, deep and filthy and full of longing, until Steve is breathless.

Tony pulls back and traces Steve’s pec through his damp shirt, pinching and rubbing his nipple, then tracing the underside with a fingertip. Then he tugs on Steve’s undershirt, pulling it out from under him. Steve yanks the shirt further up until it’s scrunched up at his armpits and he feels a gust of Tony’s warm breath across his exposed chest.

“Come on,” Tony says, trying to pull the shirt further up and off. “Let me see everything. Show me your tits.”

Despite the flush of heat Steve feels blooming on his chest, the growl that escapes his mouth isn’t the least bit shy or demure. He surges up and peels the under-armor the rest of the way off, then wraps an arm around Tony’s waist and crashes their bodies together.

Steve’s bare nipples are so sensitive, his breath catches when they rub against Tony’s own shirt. Tony kisses his hair, then drags his mouth down to the spot behind Steve’s ear that drives him crazy. Tony’s cheek is rough against Steve’s skin and Steve can’t suppress a shiver.

He pushes Steve gently back against the arm of the couch and settles himself back in his lap, resuming his teasing of Steve’s nipples with firm pressure. Dipping his head down, Tony laves Steve’s pecs with wide passes of his tongue, until Steve’s areolas are swollen and his nipples stand fully erect, shiny with Tony’s saliva.

When Tony sits up straight, he drags a finger down the center of Steve’s chest and grinds his body down against Steve’s hard cock. “Your tits are gorgeous, baby. So full and wet.”

Steve throws his head back and moans, grabbing Tony’s hips and rutting up against him in a sloppy rhythm. He tries to process why the idea of having full, swollen breasts is getting him so hot, why Tony using a pet name is making him squirm when it’s not something they usually do.

But he can’t stop, can’t think. He’s on the verge of losing it completely, and all he can think about is wanting more, more of everything Tony has to offer and is willing to give.

"Look at you.” Tony’s eyes are blazing hot, pupils blown wide with lust. He pinches and pulls Steve’s nipples until they hurt, each tug a direct line to Steve’s aching cock.

Tony pushes Steve’s pecs up and together, making them appear even more full and round. “Your tits are practically leaking, baby, and you’re desperate, aren’t you? You need someone to latch on and give you some relief."

Steve’s heart stutters in his chest and his hips jerk up off the couch as he comes in his pants.

“Christ, Steve,” Tony gasps, fumbling with his belt. He crawls up Steve’s body and is straddling his chest before he even has his cock out. He spits in his palm and strips his dick with impatient, jerky flicks of his wrist.

“Hold your tits together, Steve. Make a place for me.”

Steve groans, still caught up in the euphoria of his own orgasm, but does as Tony asks. Tony ruts against Steve’s chest, sliding his dick in the valley of Steve’s makeshift cleavage with nothing but his saliva and Steve’s sweat slicking the way.

It’s completely filthy and despite having just come, Steve is burning up. He clenches his pecs around Tony’s dick, squeezing the mounds together, and, in a matter of seconds, is rewarded with spurts of hot come searing his chest.

Tony smears the wet tip of his dick against Steve’s chest, then sits back and tries to catch his breath, shuddering through the last of his orgasm. Steve’s spent cock gives a valiant twitch when Tony’s come pools between his pecs and slides up toward his collarbone.

“God, you’re perfect,” Tony says, panting.

“I’m filthy is what I am.” Steve lifts an arm and bends it to cover his face. The other falls gracelessly and dangles off the side of the couch. “And on top of everything else, I’m pretty sure I’m lying in the remains of Clint’s popcorn.”

Tony snorts and lets go of his dick. He rubs his sticky hand against Steve’s chest, right where the gash from earlier is now barely noticeable against his smooth skin.

Steve’s mind is fuzzy and all he can manage to do is smile. “Do you think your come has magic healing powers?”

“Maybe? I think I read somewhere that it’s sterile,” Tony says. 

He shifts down and wedges himself into the crook of Steve’s armpit, then undoes Steve’s pants and makes a haphazard attempt at wiping him clean with Steve’s ruined shirt.

Steve laughs until his shoulders shake. He loves many iterations of Tony Stark, but come-drunk Tony is definitely one of his favorites, even when he’s being so obviously full of shit. “Nice try. I’m pretty your unparalleled genius knows that’s urine, not semen.”

“Six of one, half dozen of the other.” Tony’s hand flops against Steve’s chest as he stifles a yawn. “The point is, you should know better than to give me any ideas.”

Despite the fact that Steve is completely exhausted and the thought has never crossed his mind, a prickle of heat warms his cheeks.

“Captain, I had no idea you were so kinky.” Tony smiles against his chest. “I’ll hold onto that thought for another day.”

They should clean up and get something to eat, but Steve struggles to stay awake after Tony’s breathing evens out. Neither of them sleeps much on a good day, and Steve will wake up soon, in desperate need of a shower.

He knows Tony won’t be there when he wakes; Tony rarely is, but it doesn’t bother him anymore.

Steve knows Tony will be busy in the lab when he stops by after his morning run, waving off Steve’s attempts to woo him with breakfast, working on something new and improved to try and keep Steve safe. 

Some might think it’s obsessive or even manic, but Steve knows it’s the only way Tony knows how to love, and Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
